Page 4 of Lost and Found

She continues to chat and I respond with short answers, bearing my pain in silence. I don’t want her to think I’m weak because of a bum leg, not that it should matter what a stranger thinks of me. Yet, for some reason, I want to make a good impression on her. I’d chalk it up to being damn near celibate for three years, but I know that isn’t the case. Molly sparks something intense inside me, something I’ve never felt before, and I want to explore it.

I learn she hasn’t always been a city girl. She grew up in the country in Montana. Wanting to hear more of her soothing voice, I prod, “How’d you end up in Seattle, then?”

“My parents died in a car accident when I was a teenager, so I moved in with my grandmother. She lives in Seattle.” There’s a sadness in her tone that causes an ache in my chest. She doesn’t dwell on it, though, and before long, Molly’s chatting away again, shifting the subject to a lighter one.

Within a matter of minutes, I learn this beauty is warm and kind, the type of person who makes friends easily. I’m surprised by how open she’s being with me, since most people haven’t been like that after my accident. Not only is my size and physique intimidating, but my scar and limp make some uncomfortable. Those I thought cared about me the most—particularly my ex-fiancée—regarded me as some kind of freak show, thinking I couldn’t hear their hushed snickers and cruel jokes.

I don’t like to think about that time in my life, so I focus on Molly’s words as she tells me how grateful she is that I found her. I glance at her face, so close to mine, and see nothing but sincere appreciation in her eyes.

When was the last time anyone looked at me like this?

As my home comes into view, I feel a twinge of disappointment. Part of me wishes I walked slower. Her supple body feels too good in my arms and I’m not ready to let go of her yet.

“Oh, wow. This is really nice!” Molly exclaims, as she looks over my home, and pride fills my chest.

An architect friend of mine, one of the few people I’ve kept in contact with over the years, designed the place for me. It’s more modern than it is rustic, but still has a large wraparound porch with a swing off to the side. The interior is an open concept with a generous kitchen and living room area filled with oversized, comfortable furniture. The single bedroom is spacious with a custom-made bed to fit my height and sliding glass doors that lead to a private deck with a hell of a scenic view.

I carry Molly inside, setting her down onto the sectional couch and propping her foot on the upholstered ottoman. She winces, then shifts against the cushions to make herself more comfortable.

I stride into the kitchen to retrieve an ice pack from the freezer, along with an over-the-counter pain reliever and a bottle of water. When I return to the living room, she’s flexing her toes and gingerly moving her foot from side to side.

“It hurts, but I don’t think it’s broken.”

I pass her the medicine and the water. “I’d say it’s just a bad sprain. Still, let’s keep it elevated and iced. I’ll grab a compression wrap while you rest.”

I head to the bathroom and rummage around in my first aid kit. After I find what I’m looking for, I hurry back to Molly, who’s watching me with curious eyes.

“I promise I’ll be gentle.” I perch my hefty frame on the coffee table before setting her bare foot on my leg. Her thick thighs separate, and a sudden need to bury my face between them washes over me. I clench my jaw and force myself to think about anything besides her hot little pussy hidden behind a layer of dark-washed denim.

As I wrap her ankle, I glance at her and the trust I see reflected in her gaze floors me. Despite not knowing anything about me, this woman trusts me to care for her. Is it just her nature or does she see something in me that makes her feel safe? I pray it’s the latter, because I’m drawn to her in a way I can’t explain.

I finish her bandage, then prop her foot on a throw pillow. “Are you hungry?”

Before Molly can answer, a loud growl comes from her stomach and a pretty blush covers her cheeks.

“I’ll take that as ayes.” I chuckle and rise from my seat.

“Something smells delicious. What is that?” Her long, dark eyelashes frame her green eyes as she looks at me while I tower over her. My mind fills with dirty thoughts, and I imagine this same innocent expression on her face while she holds my long, girthy cock in her small hands and wraps her cherry-red lips around it.

Fuck.

I feel myself growing hard and turn away before she can see the bulge in my jeans. I retreat to the kitchen, because I don’t want her to think I’m some lewd pervert. But damn, she’s sexy and I can’t take my eyes off her.

I stir the stew I left simmering in the stove, filling the air with its savory scent, before I set up a cozy dinner for two on the coffee table. Our conversation flows easily as we eat, and I can’t deny the chemistry between us. Just as things heat up, though, thoughts of Alyssa and her cruel words about my scar cool my desire.

She mentioned it when she broke things off with me, saying that she couldn’t be seen with a man who was disfigured. Sometimes, I forget my scar is even there, which is easy to do when I’m alone. Now, however, I wonder what Molly thinks of it. It’s not pretty to look at, but it doesn’t make me a hideous monster either.

If she sees me that way, she doesn’t act like it, but I don’t want to make any assumptions. And I don’t want her to see how attracted I am to her, thinking she owes me something for rescuing her.

No, I’ll just take care of her tonight, then take her back to her cabin and let her go. I’ll prove to her there are decent men in the world and that, in spite of my appearance, I happen to be one of them.

When we finish eating, I take our dishes to the sink, leaving them to deal with later. Turning back toward the living room, I let out a frustrated growl at the sight of Molly attempting to stand on her own. She’s already balanced on her good leg and about to lower her injured foot to the floor.

“What are you doing?” I snap, storming toward her.

Molly’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t look scared. The lack of fear dulls some of my irritation, but a frown still graces my features as she steadies herself with a hand on the armrest of the couch. Her wrapped foot hovers inches above the ground, but I don’t wait for her to speak before sweeping her into my arms and depositing her back on the couch.

“Wyatt, what are you doing?”

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